Night Line

Slipped back inside under the screen door gap to wrap up the night. Down by the base of the dark bookshelf, someone had dropped a heavy rectangular slate coaster, rough and pitch-black. Sitting right in the runner fringe next to it was an unused wooden coffee stirrer, pale birch with crisp square ends. No hurry at all. I picked up the flat stick with both plush hands, took an unhurried beat to eye the geometry, and laid it dead flush diagonally from corner to corner across that matte dark stone. The pale seam split the square cleanly in two. Slouched right back against the baseboard, heels kicked out, totally settled.